The Right Choice
by Trinnor
Summary: "It's pathetic, really," he said quietly, mostly to himself, "that this is the way I'm supposed to die. Every choice I've made, every thought that's popped into my head, every crime I've committed; all of my actions have lead me to this moment. To you."


As the earth now stank of blood and dirt, and the grounds of Hogwarts were almost covered with dead bodies. The grass was slick with blood; wet, sticky, smelly and warm blood. But blood all the same; no one could tell if it was pure or not.

Three Dark Marks had been called upon; each mark for each great death eater feat: Remus Lupin, Neville Longbottom, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Thunderbolts were echoing in the distance, and the Dark Marks were almost hissing as the lightening tore the great sky apart with a slashing cut. Underneath the Marks, lay Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; completely ruined.

He stood at a distance. He had been inside of the castle a moment ago, just before the barriers and last wards were broken down. He had Apparated. He had escaped and was still alive. He had survived… for now, that was. It didn't really matter how this war turned out – he would be sentence to death on both occasions.

"Malfoy?"

The voice was tiny, almost so tiny he didn't hear it through the echoes of spell work and screaming. He abruptly turned with his wand in hand, only to face one of the few people in the world he would prefer to never see again, war or not.

"Granger," he tried to spit, but he ended up grimacing in pain. His side hurt tremendously now that he had the chance to think about it. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else, fighting off criminals such as my aunt?"

"Or criminals such as yourself, Malfoy," Granger snarled and stepped forward. He took a step back, wincing slightly. He had no chance of escaping. He knew Granger had a chance of beating him when they were both in good health, and now he couldn't even move without wincing like a little baby.

"It's pathetic, really," he said quietly, mostly to himself, "that this is the way I'm supposed to die. Every choice I've made, every thought that's popped into my head, every crime I've committed; all of my actions have lead me to this moment." He took a step forward, and Granger's eyes flickered nervously. Draco felt himself let go of everything. Nothing mattered anymore. Dead now or dead later – perhaps Granger would be merciful, even? Rather her than Voldemort anyway.

He let out an ancient breath and let go of the tremendous shoulder weight. And he actually smiled. He reached out a hand and grabbed the tip of Granger's wand, and led it towards his forehead. When the wand touched his skin, Granger woke up from her trance.

"Who would have thought," Draco whispered and locked eyes with the girl in front of him, "that it was Hermione Granger who sent Draco Malfoy to his death?" He smiled at her again. "It's quite ironic, isn't it? It was supposed to be the other way around. But now you've got your revenge, served on a silver platter." He leaned in, and his mercury eyes bored into her chocolate brown. When she didn't do anything, didn't press her wand harder against his forehead, didn't say anything, didn't celebrate – he closed his eyes and frowned.

"Do it, Granger," he whispered almost inaudibly. "Do it!" ha added fiercer when she didn't do anything. He opened up his eyes. She was crying. He felt something stir deep inside of him, but he didn't recognize the feeling. Remorse? Regret? Fear? She wasn't going to kill him. She had been his only chance at a merciful death, and she wasn't going to kill him – because she was too merciful to do it. He leant in closer so that their nose tips touched. His hand pressed the wand harder into his forehead, shakingly. "Do it, Granger. Do it! I am offering you my life…"

He felt a stray tear run down his cheek.

Suddenly a finger was there to wipe it away. He stared at her in shock.

"No," she said calmly. "I will not kill you. Not because you think it's ironic or fitting. Not because you ask me for it. Not because of revenge or the goodness of my heart – but because of justice and good choices."

"Good choices?" he stuttered. Pathetic, now he was stuttering too. "I haven't made any good choices, Granger."

"You chose to not kill Dumbledore at the top of the Astronomy Tower," she said strongly. "You chose not to rat us out when we were captured at the Manor. You chose to not support the death eaters during this attack. You chose to run."

"Running away hardly seems as a good choice," he snorted.

"You ran away and met me," she said quietly. "Don't you think some things are meant to be? Don't you think that somehow, we were meant to meet here in the end?" Draco said nothing. It was like she was thinking the same as he. Every action, every thought, every choice… "And now you have the opportunity to make one final good choice, Draco," she said, and he flinched slightly by the sound of his own name.

"What kind of choice?" he sighed and stepped away, wincing slightly from the pain. She stood firmly in place, her wand pointing at his forehead still.

"A good one," she said, and her lips twitched slightly. Was that a smile? He simply nodded to her response. She took a deep breath. "I need your wand."

"What?" he blurted out. "What do you need my wand for?"

"It's not for me, it's for Harry," she said firmly. «If you give it to me willingly, I will go easy on you. If not… I'll bring you back to the castle for the others to deal with you."

"So now you're threatening me?"

"This is a war, Malfoy," she said seriously and stepped forward. "And you have already begged me to kill you."

"I most certainly did not beg!" he protested. At her stone cold expression, all emotion lost and gone, he took a deep breath. He held out his wand with shaking hands. She snatched it quickly without breaking eye contact. "What does he need it for? Potter, I mean. He has his own wand."

"Voldemort thinks he is at advantage," Granger said, and a hint of a smile was forming on her face. "He is in possession of the Elder Wand, the most powerful wand there is. He took it from Dumbledores grave, for Dumbledore was the one who last owned it. First, the Dark Lord figured out that since it was not he who had killed Dumbledore, he was not really the rightful owner. So he murdered Severus," at the mentioning of the professor's death he winced. Snape had been like a godfather to him. Snape had helped him, guided him throughout his six years at Hogwarts. He had been like a father, even.

"So why does Potter need my wand, then?" he said tiredly. "Surely my wand isn't stronger than the Elder Wand."

Then Granger really smiled.

"But this is where you're wrong, Draco," she whispered and caressed his wand. "You see, Severus Snape was never the rightful owner of the Elde Wand… You are."

"Me?"

"Yes," she smiled. "You were the one to disarm Dumbledore at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Snape used your wand to kill him, and not his own. That makes you the rightful owner. Not Snape, but you. If Voldemort wants the right to the wand, he has to kill you."

"But now you're here," he whispered, and it dawned on him. "And now you'll kill me for my wand."

"Yes," she nodded and aimed at his heart. "Any last words?"

He stood there for a while and tried to think of something to say. Noting really sufficed for last words.

"Very well," she said.

"Wait. I want to ask you something," he interrupted. She nodded. "If you kill me, then you'll be the rightful owner. In order for Potter to own the wand, he'd have to –"

"Kill me, yes," she said somberly. "We all have our parts to play."

"We do," he said and closed his eyes. "I am ready."

"You have made the right choice, Draco," she said before stepping back, raising her wand.

_I sure hope so_, he thought, before a sea of green enveloped him and sent him into darkness.


End file.
